It seemed Hovan's vocabulary had a blank spot; Tarlac tried again. "Children. Younglings."
"Ten … younglings?" Hovan's voice was little more than a whisper, sounding awed. He turned away abruptly, toward the right-side-wall pigeon-holes. Tarlac followed, accepting the bundle he was handed, then he followed his guide back to unroll the bundle on the floor. It proved to be a Traiti-sized bedroll with a pillow and a flocked-foam blanket.
Then Hovan showed him to a locker, and Tarlac found Arjen's comment that his needs would be supplied was exactly accurate. The locker held Terran-style soap, comb, toothbrush, underwear—everything, it seemed, except uniforms.
"Thanks. You people are thorough."
"We try. I only glad am, that you have honor shown. I would not have it pleasant found, an unworthy one to guide."
The Ranger didn't know what to say to what sounded like praise, or at least like approval, from a Traiti. He settled for, "Thanks again. I try, too." Then he quickly changed the subject. "Uh, Hovan, I don't want to be offensive, but I think it might be a good idea if you show me where the sanitary facilities are."
"That next on the tour was," Hovan said, smiling.
After taking care of immediate necessities, the Ranger decided he could use a bath. He left his gun and equipment belt in the locker, picked out clean underwear, and started toward the bathing room door in the left wall.
Hovan, turning from a nearby locker, stopped him. "Why need you those?"
"To sleep in," Tarlac said, surprised. The Traiti had forgotten one thing; they hadn't thought to salvage pajamas from the Terran supplies.